Page 65 of Golden Touch
“Why?” he asks softly.
My throat closes up suddenly.
CHAPTER 27
NASH
Fiddling with the coffee machine, I keep my back to Livia, because I can sense her discomfort. But you couldn’t pay me enough money to walk away right now. I need to know what we’re up against.
“Do I have to tell you?” she whispers.
“No,” Benito says gently. “Especially if you think you’ll incriminate yourself. But you should know that nothing you’ve told me so far puts you in any legal jeopardy.”
“Really?” Her voice is pure surprise.
“Really. Just because you did the books for a criminal operation doesn’t mean that a prosecutor would ever try to punish you for it. Even if they tried, they would have to prove intent and probably show that you profited off of it.”
“But Ididprofit. I cashed their paychecks, which were generous. They paid twice as much per hour as my other employer.”
“Yet you had no idea what the racket was when you started, and Razor never leveled with you, did he?”
“Not until the very end,” she says quietly. “And only as leverage against me leaving. But I never reported them.”
“See, but you left. You made it clear that you never wanted tobe part of it. That’s why you won’t go down for any of this. What led to your leaving? What was the last straw?”
“They, uh, hurt someone.” Her voice is so low that I can barely hear it. “I heard Razor’s buddy bragging about it. They hired a PI to track a guy down—some associate of theirs. They thought he’d cheated them, so they found out where he’d last used his credit cards, and they staked out a bar in Massachusetts. A couple of club members beat him up.”
“You know his name?” Benito asked.
“No. They used a nickname, and I can’t remember what it was. But I knew they could do the same thing to me. The way they tracked that guy was sophisticated. So I had to get out of there. Even then, it took me two tries. The first time he came back to the house unexpectedly. He found my packed bag on the seat of my car. My passport was in it. Pretty obvious that I was planning to bolt…” She trails off.
The coffee machine is done, but I’m just staring at the full pot, waiting to hear what she says. I’m not going to like it.
“What did he do?” Benito asks softly.
“He, uh, ran into the house and threw me against the entertainment center in the living room. I was so shocked I didn’t really have time to react. I went through a glass cabinet, got cut up pretty badly. Then he forced me into the bedroom and restrained me.”
All my blood has stopped circulating. And I’m gripping the countertop with two white-knuckled hands.
“How did he restrain you?” Benito asks patiently.
Fuck, how can he sound so calm? I want to flip all the tables.
“With, uh, handcuffs and a chain and the bed frame.” Her voice drops to almost a whisper. “He left me there for an entire day. To teach me a lesson. But the only lesson I learned was that I needed to get the fuck away from him.”
“Smart,” Benito agrees.
“It took another week before he’d leave me alone again for more than a few minutes. He also took my passport and my carkeys, but I had a second car key in my duffel bag that he missed. He still has my passport. When I asked for it, he wouldn’t give it back.”
“That’s a crime,” Benito says. “Taking your passport is larceny. And it’s also a violation of personal liberty—the same as chaining you to a bed. All these extenuating circumstances help ensure that you won’t be held liable for his criminal activity.”
“Unless he hires every lawyer in Vermont and gets off on a technicality. Then he’ll be back for more of this…”
I turn around in time to see her pull up the cuff of her sweater to show Benito the scars on the inside of her forearm.
My friend squints to see the faded, slightly shiny marks imprinted in her skin. “Ouch. That’s from the broken glass?”
“He dragged me through it while I screamed.”
